


Once And Always

by bettercrazythanboring



Category: Morning Glories
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:37:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bettercrazythanboring/pseuds/bettercrazythanboring
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Ian and Akiko attend a normal boarding school instead of a murderous one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once And Always

The first time they meet, Ian's ten and still plagued by the title of "new guy".

He's seen a few episodes of Zoey 101 in his time—when his homeschooling partner made him watch them, plus a few romcoms he really doesn't like to talk about—and it warped his thought process to infer that "new guy" meant "mysterious and interesting and someone people flock to make friends with". What it means, instead, is that he keeps his head down in the corner and watches as the other kids that have been together since preschool talk about things only they understand and don't share stories everyone among them already knows.

Nobody even asks who the weirdo is or stuffs him in a locker, which he's been prepared for since day one. In a school with other people, popular culture dictates there's only two options—be the one who can bully people (your choice if you actually do or not) or be the one who gets bullied. He's so freaked out by the concept of being  _just_ _there_  that, for weeks, every time he walks by a window, he stops and makes sure he still has a reflection.

His roommates don't make the situation any easier; they're twins and, as far as he can tell, live separately from  _everyone_  else. Like the Hitachiin boys. If the established clique can't win them over, there's no way  _he_  can.

He tries to spread a rumor about himself via a few discarded notes in the trashbag—because he doesn't know how else to—and a total of two people repeat it, to the best of his knowledge.

He slumps against his desk, heel of his palm dug deep into the soft tissue of his cheek, and draws infinity symbols on his desk with a graphite that will wipe away at the slightest touch.

He jolts when she slams her books down beside him—so close that the graphite snaps off under the weight of them—and flops down on the wooden seat, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. She slaps her hands against her thighs in a random pattern and turns to him expectantly.

"So, when are you gonna stop moping and engage?"

His eyes dart around the classroom, before flying up and down her, torn jeans and all. "Uh... what?"

"I haven't seen you speak a single word to anyone in this class. It's  _getting_  a little weird. Are you a serial killer or something?"

"What? No. I'm just..." He waves his fingers around with unsure movements and frowns. "I don't think anyone really wants me here."

"Well, duh; you haven't given them a reason to." She lightly flicks the back of his head, causing him to straighten in the chair and adjust his glasses. "We know nothing about you, Ian. That's your name, right? You gotta put out the bait. Trust me; I was new last year."

"How do I do that?"

She casts her eyes to the ceiling. "You  _talk_  to people."

"Like now?" he asks cautiously.

"Sort of. Except not, 'cause you have to make the first move, not wait for others to. And also stop staring creepily at people."

"Okay," he says, gathering his lips in the corner of his mouth. "What's your name?"

"And also learn people's names," she continues. "Seriously, what have you been doing this entire month?"

He shrugs. "Reading comic books."

"Oh; what are those?"

"Yo- you don't know what they are?"

"I generally don't ask questions I know answers to." She crosses her arms.

He bites the inside of his lower lip with his left incisors—tugging it just enough for her to see a dimple below the corner of his mouth, which she deems interesting and warranting further inspection—before reaching down into his bag and pulling out his favorite issue with Bart Allen in it.

Her eyebrows come together as she examines the glossy pages, nose quirking up. "They're picture books?"

"No, no. They're, uh..." He exhales sharply through his nose, pursing his lips. "Stop-motion cartoons with a long-term serialized plot. Like chapters of a book. And then a book series. Maybe."

"Oh." She flips through the colorful pictures. "What's this one about?"

"Oh, it's really great, it's part of a series about a league of superheroes and this guy comes back from the f—"

The bell rings and she hands the issue back to him, gathering her things to return to her seat. He runs his eyes up and down the cover before tapping her on the back and putting it atop all the other books in her arms.

"You can keep it," he says. "For a while. No one should go through life not knowing about comics."

"Uh. Thanks."

He jumps half out of his seat when she leaves. "Wait, you never told me your name."

She flips her head back to manage the shiny, black hair when her arms are full.

"I'm Akiko."

* * *

 

The first time he wakes up and the stack of comic books nearest to his bed is missing, he goes ballistic.

He rips the sheets off his bed and yanks the mattress off the metal frame—what he hoped to accomplish by doing so remains a mystery to him for as long as he lives—and wakes the twins up with his heavy breathing. He demands that he see their stuff and make sure they aren't thieves and then asks them if they freaking know who pranked him.

That particular stack was full of his favorite issues, ones he's spent most of the allowances in his entire life collecting—and had to sacrifice most of his wardrobe to bring here because of weight limits—and he refuses to even acknowledge the thought that they might be gone.

He goes door to door on his entire floor, combing every piece of furniture with his eyes and asking everyone he sees if they know anything. Once he's done with the left side—the boys of his year—, he takes a deep breath and crosses the big landing of the double staircase, venturing into the girls' side.

It's not a particularly pleasant endeavorand his legs shake every time he knocks on a new door, but determination steels the muscles in his calfs and steadies his heartbeat whenever it gets too erratic and, on the plus side, by the end of the morning, everyone in his class knows who he is.

His face is worn out and miserable by the time he reaches the end of the hallway, right by a huge window adorned with lace curtains. The last door is half open, painted bright orange and someone hums inside.

He peers inside with caution, jaw dropping at the sight.

Akiko is laying on her stomach on the round carpet on the floor, ankles bouncing up and down between her butt and the floor in the same rhythm as her head bobs to the side. His precious comics are stacked somewhat chaotically next to her and the earphones of what looks to be a handmade music player blast some music he doesn't recognize —that or she's a  _really_  bad singer—and she flips the pages a few times a minute with a cheerful smile on her face.

She doesn't notice him standing there and he can do nothing but stare slack-jawed at her for who knows how long before he finally regains the will to move. He stomps over to her and waves his arms in her vision as aggressively as he can. When she starts and yanks the buds out of her ears, his face contorts into such a ridiculous grimace of outrage that she snickers involuntarily.

"The fuck?!" he practically screams at her, pointing at the stack like a madman.

Her head whips around in the direction, perfectly straight hair flipping with her and shrugs. "I couldn't sleep. You said I could have them."

His shoulders slump and he drops down onto the floor in front of her, replaying the fool he's made out of himself in the last hour for no reason, apparenlt. "The  _one_. I said you could have the one comic! And not without telling me first!"

She nods along silently and, as he doesn't say anything, only breathes out a sigh of relief, her gaze wanders back to the page open in front of her out of the corner of her eye. When he notices, he perks up and tilts his head slightly to see where she's gotten to.

"So, how are you liking them?" he asks, mouth tight to prevent his warring worry and triumph from escaping.

"Pretty good," she says. "But I feel like I'm missing a bunch of context."

"Oh. Yeah. Nobody really knows all of it. But I can fill you in on the general plotlines of the arcs I don't have."

"Cool."

She never does ask him permission to take them, but, in time, it becomes his bedtime routine to assemble the comic books that go in a group together according to the mood he—or she—has had that day, just in case the night brings a visitor with it.

* * *

 

The first time he's caught in her room after hours it's because they'd started discussing the nutritional value of healthy human blood versus one that has illnesses that elevate or lower the presence of various substances in terms of vampire diet—she still maintains that too much iron for healthy life is good for healthy immortality—and now it's half a day later and her roommate walks in on the two of them, floor supervisor in tow, tied together with the sheets of her bed as rope and trying to figure out the aerodynamic mechanics of a beast with two humanoid bodies facing either direction.

He yelps when he sees the time and apologizes to the teacher profusely and she can't help snorting as she watches him trip over the sheets when he tries to untangle himself from her because why on Earth should it be a big deal that a boy is in her room?

* * *

 

The first time he sees a spider in his room in the middle of the night and sneaks down the hallway to the bright orange door because the twins won't wake up, it doesn't even occur to him to be embarrassed about asking for help. Not until she starts teasing him in the dark, getting her heaviest shoe.

* * *

 

The first time summer comes and they go their separate ways for a few months, they spend the entire week preceding it fighting and airing out every frustration that's built up over the year, each little personality trait that drives them nuts.

They go home still fuming and making faces at the mere thought of the other and almost a month passes before either of them realizes that they didn't even say goodbye.

They greet each other with smiles and light punches on the first day of school and it becomes a tradition to start fighting instead of saying goodbye whenever they have to spend more than a few days apart.

* * *

 

The first time they spend parts of the summer together, it becomes immediately apparent to everyone but them that this tradition needs to be reevaluated for cases when they're not  _actually_  supposed to say goodbye.

Ian's parents have nightmares about that week for many years to come.

* * *

 

The first time they don't pair up for a two person class project, Akiko spends an entire hour chewing her pencil so much she can't actually remember what things that aren't wood taste like. Her eyes are fixed on the back of the pretty girl in front of her and she's not entirely sure why there's visions swimming in her mind of intimately acquainting her grip with that ridiculously long hair.

She grits her teeth and, not without effort, turns her attention back to the handsome boy next to her whom she's spent the last month fawning over. She resents the way she's already wasted half of the double period on someone she has no reason to feel such strong feelings about and works viciously to make up for it, pushing the other girl out of her mind completely.

* * *

 

The first time he kisses her, it's on a dare.

They're still at that age when the most scandalous thing their group of friends can come up with is essentially a spin the bottle session without the randomness effect and he rolls his eyes when it's his turn.

They exchange knowing looks, both having known it was gonna happen sooner or later and determined to make it as boring a show as possible so that it never happens again.

When they meet halfway through the room, he sighs and quirks his eyebrow with a little resigned nod. He presses his lips to hers and it's not either of their first kisses, but it is the first that sends an electric current through the budding teenagers. She holds her breath to slow the pulse that has started sprinting at the contact and he doesn't move his lips at all, terrified he'll do something embarrassingly rash if he does, and they break apart as soon as social norms allow it, hands clenching into awkward fists at both their sides.

"Gross," he mutters for extra effect, shifting weight from foot to foot.

"Totally," she agrees and goes back to her seat, far away from his.

They don't speak another word to anyone the entire night.

* * *

 

The first time Akiko gets stood up by a date at a dance, she finds Ian out in the corner, leaning against a column with his back against the crowd, playing Bejeweled on his phone. He nearly has a heart attack when she taps him on the shoulder and, as she looks around for his date, he says he never brought one.

She grabs his hand and they make their way to the outer edges of the dance floor, where they proceed to embarrass the shit out of themselves. She's not the least bit surprised to find that he's a terrible dancer, but she makes up for it with her own lack of grace and moves dug out from the old eighties sitcoms he's recently gotten her into. They're kicked out of the cancan group circle after one of them trips or knocks the other down—what happened isn't exactly clear and who did it is even blurrier—and he tries to lift her up in the air the way they do in movies.

He fails.

She, however, picks him up into her arms bridal style with little effort and guffaws when he waves about, pointing at himself and drawing attention to how freaking strong his best friend is. She nearly drops him when someone thinks it'd be funny to tickle her sides from behind and Ian hates the way his wristwatch runs down the fabric of her pretty dress at the sudden motion, catching in it and tearing a small hole.

Akiko assures him it's fine and her friend can fix it, but he continues biting his lip and not moving anymore until she slaps the back of his head lightly and grabs his hands, rolling their joined limbs in whatever dorky move she's picked this time; she doesn't know what they're called.

After the third time their heads accidentally bonk together due to ill-synchronized body movements, they decide it's too hazardous and instead wander out onto the balcony filled with cool autumn air and the smell of some interesting blue flowers.

The garden is empty below them and, though they are within earshot of the music, it's too loud for anyone inside to hear them, so they plop down on the intricate chairs, feet on the banister and do what anyone in their situation would do—sing along to the songs they know with the most inaccurate lyrics they can imagine as loudly as they can.

* * *

 

The first time he sends her any kind of love letter, it's Valentine's Day and he works his hardest to make it as anonymous as possible. He studies the handwriting of six different people in an attempt to make his own unrecognizable and eventually settles for a typewriter, something she'd never associate with him. Or would she, given his widely-known affection for Fringe?

After further contemplation, he gets a much older model than the one he'd planned on borrowing and runs the words through several different rendering systems before printing them out from the computer onto a paper that he's been assured multiple times cannot be traced back to him.

The words are, of course, even harder to conceal.

He studies his language patterns, his best-liked words, his preferred grammatical structures, and his punctuation habits. He alters them all for the letter and expands his vocabulary in the search for just the right non-Ian-sounding phrases, and, all in all, it takes almost a month to get the small slip of paper ready. Fifty-four words, he thinks. Just fifty-four words. But so much effort.

On the plus side, he aces his extra credit English paper about language analysis in a pinch.

He drops the envelope into a Valentine's bin the night before, when everyone's asleep. He even wears a ski mask as he sneaks down the hallway.

He shouldn't even be doing this, he thinks. She's on the verge of having a boyfriend and he's not even sure what it really is that he feels, but it's become so consuming over the past few months that he just has to tell  _someone_. He doesn't dare to tell anyone on campus because he's a terrible liar and there's no way he would be able to keep it a secret that it's her he's talking about, and he's  _so_  not ready for people to know. And he doesn't trust love-advice radio shows because, hello, what doofus doesn't recognize the voice of every person they've ever met in their entire life? No. Nuh uh. No way. And then, of course, if they knew it was him, everyone would once again know he's talking about her, because there is no other person he could conceivably be saying these things for. Not like this.

And she  _is_  his best friend. There's never really been anything he can't talk to her about. Why should this be any different? Just 'cause he can't own up to the words...

He makes the drop along with three decoys and makes his way back to the room, satisfied that he's done all he can to avoid making things awkward between them, and a weight lifts from his heart because at least there will be  _someone_  who knows. And maybe, if she ever gets insecurities again over some super spectacular guy that is not him, she might look at the note and know there's someone who appreciates her just the way it is.

Yeah. Yeah, it works out.

He sneaks back into his room with no one the wiser and doesn't sleep the entire night.

She's not in the same classroom as him when she opens the envelope the next day and, oh, how he wishes he'd been there. What he doesn't know, though, and would  _never_  know, is that she knows it's from him immediately—he's accounted for everything but his smell, which clings to the paper that's been hidden in the pocket of his vest for weeks, refusing to let go.

He probably would've fainted at the thought.

She does keep it close for days, but she never mentions it to him, even as an anonymous letter, and she tells her current suitor it's not gonna work out. All the while she spends weeks rereading the letter every night until it's creased and crumpled and she knows every word, every curve of ink by heart, and every day actively noticing his behavior around her when he thinks she's not looking. Or when he's just not looking himself.

* * *

 

The first time she asks him out, it comes out of nowhere. For both of them.

They're just walking past the message board on their way to lunch and he stops at new club announcements while her gaze falls on a flyer for another dance in a week. When he draws back, satisfied with his information, she points to the bright blue paper signifying masquarades casually.

"Do we get individual costumes or couples'?" is her only question.

He scratches the back of his head. "What?"

"The dance. We're going together and I want to know if we have to go shopping or if I can use that witch costume I was saving for Halloween. Spoiler alert: I look stunning."

He stands motionless for a minute, eyes wandering all over the place. His mouth opens and closes several times before he speaks.

"Uh... when did we... decide to go together? 'Cause I don't— really remember that."

She grins and turns back to him, and he has a sinking feeling that she thinks he's an idiot.

"I generally don't ask questions I know the answers to."

His eyes widen and a bead of sweat runs down his neck as she quirks an eyebrow pointedly, and he can't decide between embarrassment and... elation?

"The note?" he guesses with red creeping up his ears, certain he can brush the sentence off if it turns out to be wrong.

"I knew  _way_  before then," she says with a little shake of her head and, on impulse, leans in and up to brush her lips across his.

Ian's heart stops.

It doesn't start beating again until she's safely an arm's length away, as far as he can tell.

"So," she says, smirking. "Individual or couple?"

* * *

 

The first time he's caught in her room when he  _really_  shouldn't be there, he lurches himself out of her bed and down the side furthest away from the door, which is blocked from view by a bunch of bags, thank god. He lands on the floor with a thud and hits his elbow, and takes half the covers with him as he tries to keep from yelping at the stars in his vision, hearing the distinct clank of his glasses falling from the nightstand. The action leaves her exposed on the mattress in only a loose wife beater gathered up to her ribcage, stunned to silence mid-moan.

She glances at the door beyond which the alarming steps originated from and listens to them fade as she lets out a pent-up breath and closes her bare legs. She smiles and rolls to her side, resting her head on an elbow and calming her chaotic, tufted hair with the other hand as she nudges his still-very-present boner with her toe. She looks down at him, trying to keep from laughing as he squints up nervously with bare eyes and brushes his upper arm.

"What was that?" she asks.

He still looks like he's listening for intruders. "I... didn't want to get you in trouble?"

"Uh huh. Buddy. I think we need to establish protocol for these kinds of situations."

"That is probably a good idea," he agrees, nodding along, and her eyes just keep returning to the massive tent formed by the sheets.

With pursed lips, she gets out of the bed, walks to the door, and locks it, forever amused at how hard it is to walk with closed legs in this condition.

"Now," she says with every intention of joining him on the floor rather than the bed. "I believe it's good manners to finish what you started."

* * *

 

The first time she's caught in  _his_  room when she's not really supposed to be there, she's straddling him, partially covered by the blankets, and doesn't bat an eyelash as one of the twins comes in, looking for who knows what.

"Hey, could you, like, maybe come back in ten minutes?" she asks, barely even turning her head as Ian turns the most unattractive shade of red.

"Oh. Yeah. Sure." The guy shrugs and exits and she kisses her boyrfriend's pink nose in support as she resumes the roll of her hips and draws out a strangled moan from beneath her lips.

* * *

 

The first time they disagree on which movie to watch, it's ugly.

Like, throwing-stuff ugly.

Like, the-week-before-saying-goodbye ugly.

Like, their first real fight as a couple ends up being a five-hour debate (or screaming match, as their roommates would call it) of the romantic properties of horror versus sci-fi and they end up not speaking for days.

* * *

 

The first time time they participate in a group outdoor activity as a team, with various obstacle courses, it's... interesting.

When their legs are tied together, both of their balance issues somehow cancel each other out and they finish far ahead of anyone else, perfectly in sync.

She turns out to be incredibly supportive on the wall climb, pulling him up with her own strength when it becomes apparent he probably won't be able to do it himself.

Trivia is plagued by hushed bickering and a severe waste of time when they debate one question after another for two minutes each. They end up being the last ones still there, but, on the plus side, once they finally reach a compromise, they do end up getting the most points.

At puzzles, he simply sits down and lets her lean against his back as he takes the wheel of the task and she consults the map they were given at the beginning, occasionally glancing back at him and correcting a thing or two.

On the hidden-object-finding course, he takes over the map control and lets her do all the running on the path she already drew for herself while he was busy with sudoku. He knocks her down on the fern-ridden ground when he thinks he heard a bear and, when it turns out to be an actual bear a few meadows over, guides her into a hut-forming cluster of trees, where they squish together a little too close for comfort, the positions more intimate than a possible life-or-death situation would typically call for.

They shuffle their feet and cautiously look around, but, every time they start to think that it might be safe to come out, they hear another distant roar. Of course, neither of them have cell phones with them, what with the mud and the water, and so they just stay there for who knows how long.

A flare goes up somewhere in the distance, a bright red flash, and the bear growls and runs away on all fours. Ian sighs in relief, breath fluttering Akiko's eyelashes. She, however, is a little sullen that the event is over—as signified by the flare—and the bear may have very well cost them a new laptop.

She could've used a new laptop.

Still they don't move from the squished positions in the hut that have become almost comfortable over the last hour or so. She looks up at him and he looks down at her and, somehow, they end up pressed against the wood as close as physics would allow, kissing as if their life depended on it, the feeling further intensified when it starts raining

They eventually make it back to school through the puddles and mud, wary of bears and other woodland creatures, but they don't even bother going inside, instead sneaking into the tool shed right off the garden path.

Ian locks the door tight as he pulls his soaking shirt off; he's gotten remarkably good at doing both at the same time. She's already sitting atop an old table, breathing heavily and brushing her wet hair out of her face.

It's nearly summer, after all, and they'll soon have to say goodbye, she thinks as she yanks his shorts down and fuses her mouth to his.

* * *

 

The first time they have to say goodbye for longer than a couple months when they're both off to college, they don't fight.

They don't yell, they don't annoy, they don't mock; they don't do much of any talking, to be honest.

They just stay curled up on the bed at Ian's parents' house and stare into the distance.

Sometimes they kiss. Sometimes they make love. Sometimes they just stay in each other's embrace, touching in as many places as is possible. But they don't speak. Never speak.

There's phones for talking. There's Skype and letters and e-mails and a whole bunch of other things that make being on opposite sides of a country easier. But there isn't anything for this.

At least nothing that doesn't look immensely creepy and cost a fortune.

So they stay curled up on the bed and try to squeeze as much affection into a few short days as they are capable of.


End file.
